


A Pattern

by bondove



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, F/F, F/M, Human AU, Meliorn is an asshole in this, Please Don't Hate Me, Sorry Not Sorry, Why Did I Write This?, im very sorry i actually like meliorn a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 15:17:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6990754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondove/pseuds/bondove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First love made Isabelle's stomach bubble. Second one made her feel like an adult, real woman. Third healed. Endings of love are always hard, sometimes they are too much. Sometimes one person can change everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Pattern

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when my WI-FI went down and I've no idea what this is. Un-beta'd. English is not my first language, don't judge my writing too hard, please! 
> 
> (Thought please, do comment. Good or bad, I don't care. Just share your thoughts of this!)

First was Simon. It was crazy how fast they fell in love. It was sweet, sweet relationship between high school kids. Simon was so shy. Deep blush grew to his face everytime Isabelle smiled at him on the hallways. Isabelle loved those bubbles in her stomach she got when she saw Simon blushing. 

They were each other's first in so many ways. First real boyfriend and girlfriend. First real kiss. First make out. First ones to sleep with. It was sweet, shy and so innocent. Innocent love. 

It started suddenly, no warning before it. Isabelle was so blinded by love, that she didn't see it before it was too late. Hopelessly late. 

Simon's best friend Clary loved art. Art, art, art. Always art, when it was Clary talking. There were so many gallerias, exhibitions and expos where Clary dragged Simon. It was proof of a friendship, that he went with her. 

Then he started to go alone. Isabelle wanted to go with him, but every time she was turned down. Maybe he had grown to really care about art, she thought, maybe it is his own thing, something to enjoy alone.

That night when he came clear was an emotional nightmare. Horrible nightmare. Isabelle was ripped into pieces. Smashed into pieces and burned after. It was full of tears. Simon cried an hour before he managed to say a word. Isabelle yelled an hour after he left. 

Isabelle believed every word Simon said. There was no reason not to. He told her how he had met someone. Someone so wonderful, someone he loved more than he dared to admit. Simon cried so much. It broke Isabelle's heart. 'I haven't even kiss him yet, Iz. I'm not a cheater, please, please believe me'. Isabelle hugged him and told him to leave. 

It took time Isabelle's heart to heal. For almost a year, every time she saw Simon and that boy, Raphael, it felt like knife was stabbed into her stomach. Deep down Isabelle was happy for Simon, for Raphael. For them. They were in love. Not sweetly, shyly like Isabelle and Simon had been. Those boys had something more, more pure, raw and she knew it. 

She did heal. Simon was her first love and first love wasn't always made to last. Isabelle still loved Simon and Simon loved her back. Platonic, deep love they had now, was probably much more powerful, much stronger than all romantic love they had ever had. 

Then Meliorn walked into Isabelle's life. It was Isabelle's senior year in high school. Older guy, mystique and painfully honest. Meliorn stole her heart before she realized it. It was fast, so fast and so dangerous. 

Blue dipped long hair, green leaf tattooed to his left cheek. Makeup always scruffy when he weared it and clothes so weird and still so beautiful. Isabelle loved his charm, how he so proudly carried himself. 

No one liked Meliorn. Maryse disliked her daughter even more, when Isabelle brought her boyfriend home first time. Alec and Jace didn't trust Meliorn and wanted Isabelle to dump him immediatly. Max wanted Simon back, not that "weird leaf man". But Isabelle didn't care. She was in love, from head to heels. 

Meliorn never lied. He said he couldn't, and it sounded like a lie. Honest man, honest soul, that was how Isabelle thought. But Meliorn, he was manipulative, he was clever. For him there was no need to lie. He got what he wanted, when he wanted, without doing so. 

Isabelle was still so naive, young and stupid. If her first boyfriend, first thief of her heart wasn't a cheat, her second was. But she didn't care. She wanted to live fast, love strong. Everytime Meliorn told her when he had slept with someone. He told with a smile on his face and showed no shame.

Still Isabelle was with him. In his bed, which she knew he had shared with other women too. But it was exciting. It hurt her, it hurt painfully. But Isabelle felt like she was a woman. Real woman, when she dated older man and had real action in her life. But she wasn't a woman. She was little girl, naive little high school girl who sticked around too long. 

Her last night with Simon had been filled with tear and emotions. Her last night with Meliorn was filled with euphoria and blurred lines of love. Until he left.

Isabelle was loud when she slept with Meliorn. He liked it and Isabelle liked to please him. Hands had wondered around bodies, sharp breaths had been taken trought closed teeth. Meliorn had stood up from his bed immediatly after and with a kiss to Isabelle's forehead he left.

Then police came. Isabelle hadn't had any clothes on when they broke the door without warning. Guns pointed towards her and officers yelling orders, she felt like a trapped animal.

Isabelle was in jail for three hours and fortysix minutes. Those were the most horrible hours in her life. Other women treated her as a hooker and police officers were rude. No one never explained to her what happened and why she was put to jail. It was scary and Isabelle felt like a little child. 

Alec had picked her from police station. She had had tiny, tight red dress with a zipper in its front and no shoes on. Her brother had rolles his eyes and hugged the fear from her. She felt safe for a moment. At home that feeling of safety was broke by her yelling parents and slap from her mother. That was last time Isabelle called her other than Maryse. 

For years Isabelle trust no one, except her brothers. There was no need to trust anyone. Isabelle wanted the world. With every drink she drank, she wanted more and still it made her want to throw up. With every night shared with a stranger, she wanted more, but stood in a shower for an hour to wash away everything. With every night used to dance on a club, she wanted to keep moving her body, but still curl into a corner. 

Isabelle was a child. Messed up little girl in a body of a twentytwo year old. No one else was a child anymore. She was the only one. A failed one. 

Smiling brightly, without it reaching her eyes, she sat in the church one time after another. Weddings. So many weddings. Beautiful decorations and wonderful foods. One beautiful bride and five handsome grooms. But Isabelle was never a one to walk on the aisle. She was sitting at the first row, time after time. Alone. 

Isabelle had no home. There was an apartment, with beautiful view from living room's windows to Brooklyn's night or day. Apartment filled with beautiful furniture made of oak. Soft bed and bathtube big enough for a queen. Kitchen's counters shining clean. Walls covered with paintings made by her friends. It was an apartment, beautiful one. It was an apartment, not a home. 

Isabelle was alone. Always alone. No matter if she sat in cafe with her brothers or if she was dancing in a club. She was still alone. All by herself. Other people on the different side of her walls. But it was okay, that was what she wanted. No one was worrying about her too much. No one hurting by her and no one hurting her. 

It was one of bad nights. Isabelle's head was spinning round, round, round. Alcohol burned her veins when she swung in a human mass. Mind so blurred she didn't realise hands on her body and her hands on the body of someone else. Hands on body of that person who took her home that night.

Morning after she found herself in a bed, all clothes on. But Isabelle was not alone. There was a beautiful girl, with a skin white like milk and hair blonde like sand of a beach. Green, bright eyes and genue smile. Lydia, that was her name. Isabelle liked sound of it in her head. 

Lydia was like poison that you couldn't from stop spearding. Good kind of poison. No, Lydia was like sweet sweet potion. Potion of love, trust, safety. Isabelle didn't even got the taste the potion, before she knew that it was all she wanted. Nothing in the world couldn't make her not to want it. It didn't take more than a smile and couple of gentle words from Lydia's lips to Isabelle become sold. Isabelle workshipped every inch of that girl. 

No. Don't. Stop. Those were three most common words from Lydia's mouth. Isabelle liked Lydia and she knew, she knew for sure that Lydia liked her back. Isabelle wanted to kiss her, touch her, feel her. God, she wanted to be so good to her. There was nothing Isabelle would not do for her. But Lydia, Lydia was better person, truly good. They both knew that Isabelle was messed up and Lydia, wonderful and lovely Lydia, wanted to Isabelle heal before she let her to be with her like Isabelle wanted. No, she didn't just want, she griefed another's body, her smell, her laugh, her giggles. Anything. 

Lydia was patient. When Isabelle screamed to her and called her names, she just told her to be quiet. When Isabelle broke to tears, Lydia was the one to hold her and wipe them away. When Isabelle didn't know what to do or what she felt, Lydia was the one to keep her from drowning. Lydia was always there for here, without hesitations or second thoughts. Safe place, that was what Lydia was. 

Isabelle was still a mess. Probably would always be. But she wasn't as messy she used to be. Girl with blonde braids and emerald eyes saved her. It wasn't big things that lifted Isabelle up from her messed up little mind. Big things, like when Lydia cleaned Isabelle up after crazy nights at club, or when Lydia brought Isabelle to hospital when she took too many pain killers. 

Little things of Lydia saved Isabelle. The way her eyes lighted up when she laughed. The way she laughed. The way she smiled after a sassy come back. The way she gently touched Isabelle whenever she could. The way she swiped hairs from her cheeks when they falled from behind her ears. Those were Isabelle's saviours, those little things. 

Isabelle started to heal.

Lydia started to allow Isabelle to touch her more. Kiss her. Kiss her all over. Worship her. And Isabelle did. Isabelle touched her. Kissed her. Worshipped her body. And Lydia did everything back. 

Time flew. Isabelle was twentyfive. And she was an adult. Not a child anymore, not messed up like she used to be. Three years, three years she had lived with Lydia had saved her. Healed her. 

It hadn't been easy, far from easy. Isabelle had hurt Lydia so many ways. 

There had been doctor appointments. Skippes doctor appointments. Fights because of Isabelle's stubborness and refuses to go to them. Broked glasses and smashed plates by Isabelle. Tears. So many tears. Blood from Isabelle's thighs and stomach. Lydia crying because of those blooddrops. Blurred nights with more alcohol Isabelle could think of. Pills mixed with alcohol. Overusing of pills doctor had ordered Isabelle to take. Yelling, screaming, shouting. Crying, mostly. 

But all that was in the past. Was. Everything was in the past now. 

John. Lydia's John. Ex-soldier, a veteran. Good man. Wonderful man. Man that Lydia loved. When the time came, when John stood at their, Isabelle and Lydia's, home door Isabelle knew what she needed to do. "It's okay. You deserve to be really happy". That was all she said. It was true, Lydia deserved the World and every single thing at it that made her smile. And Lydia had been happier than Isabelle had ever seen. Lydia deserved it. 

When they left, Isabelle screamed. Screamed louder than ever before. Longer than ever before. More despredly than ever before. It was like she was ripped into pieaces again. Stapped, hit, strangled. At the same time. 

The club had been hazy. Drinks had burned Isabelle's throath more than she remember it did, after being so long without them. People had been sticky and sweaty. Music had felt like it was about to expload Isabelle's head. Beat of it felt inside her cheast and vibrated at her spine. 

Someone had took her to a motel. Isabelle wasn't sure had she been willing or not. Drunk enough to not remember. Moving hurt her when she woke up next morning. The other sleeped, his head buried to a pillow. It was good. Isabelle didn't want to see his face.

Filling the bathtube up took eleven minutes and sixteen seconds. Water burned her skin as she step in, laid back and closed her eyes. 

Lydia had had one pattern she always followed on Isabelle's skin as she kissed her, worshipped her. Up from the right ankle by her knees to her hips. Small circle of kisses just under Isabelle's belly button. Leather kisses to her ribs and between her breasts until her lips met Isabelle's collarbones. Kisses from shoulders to Isabelle's left hand's palm. 

That pattern, that journey was drawn into Isabelle's mind. Even thinking those lips on her skin made her breath heavily. Those traces drawn into her skin made salty water from Isabelle's eyes to drop and mix with hot water of her bath. 

Isabelle was twentyfive-year-old child as she sunk into the red water.


End file.
